


Prized Possession

by wormhourdeluxe



Category: One Piece
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Gaping, Anal Play, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Chains, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehumanization, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fear Play, Humiliation, Identity Porn, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Object Insertion, Objectification, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, SOME comfort. originally didnt have any, Sex Toys, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, not actually that bad considering some of my other shit, will probably add more later :/
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22325395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wormhourdeluxe/pseuds/wormhourdeluxe
Summary: Marco gets captured by human slavers looking to make a pretty penny, presenting him on stage to hundreds of potential buyers.Challenge 1!! Scene: stage, Kink: identity porn
Relationships: Fushicho Marco | Phoenix Marco/Portgas D. Ace/Sabo
Comments: 13
Kudos: 87
Collections: Happy Hornings!





	Prized Possession

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for ! well, everything in the tags. not that bad, honestly, tho its Really, Really, Really dubious and they dont want to make a scene. honestly i wrote this in like 2 hours? an hour and a half? last night so :/ my bad lmfao

Marco had been caught. Just a little. Put in just a few chains, behind just a few bars, with just a little force.

Just a little. After all, no one else could say a product was damaged when it was self-healing. The auctioneers had been  _ very _ careful not to accidentally seal off his “major selling point”. Oh, they had tried at first. Marco had gone down, but he did so swinging– he doubted any of the slavers would forget watching their peers being gutted open under his talons. They had gotten the jump on him. 

It didn't matter. Even bound in alarming amounts of chain (it was near impossible to walk. Multiple cuffs clasped around his ankles, steeled covers molded tight to his human feet.) they still deemed several guards necessary to keep him subdued. 

(He didn't trust that. They had far too much fun, prepping him for the auction. He could still feel the heat on his inner thighs from where one of them took unnecessarily long to remove his pants.) 

The crowd roared beyond the curtains, and Marco refrained from snarling something nasty under his breath as his three guards shoved him out into the open with a smirk. 

The stage was far too bright. The wood was carefully cleaned just beforehand– it still smelled of ammonia and bleach. Marco could see the marks embedded into the wood though– years of the weight of slaves walking, preening, posing– his knees slot nicely into the shallow grooves in the center of the stage. 

"–and here's our  _ prize product,  _ the right-hand man of a Yonko! _ " _ The announcer boomed, and the crowd cheered. Marco eyed him carefully as the man came closer, scanning him for any openings. His feet had been carefully bound, his hands wrenched painfully to pin his wings ("we can’t let him fly away," They had complained, behind stage, "...and we can’t just clip him like a real bird. He'll just heal back. I don't trust him to stay put– you know this is the second of the  _ Whitebeards, _ right? If he gets free at all, I don’t doubt he’ll somehow make it home and not even Doflamingo can save us from a fucking  _ Yonko–")  _ uncomfortably tight to his back. The announcer smirked at him. The shadow of his glittering, sky blue mask wasn’t enough to hide the quirk of his lips. Marco swept his face clean of his scowl.

Weakness wouldn't do here. Not with the way that man smiled at him, devious and wanton even with his most prominent features (remember, remember it all, and  _ track them all down later) _ covered. Marco swept him for any signifiers. Blond hair, tied tightly up. A pressed suit, brightly and grotesquely neon blue, steel-toed boots– 

A cane– a pipe? pressed warningly into his spine. It jabbed just between his shoulder blades, sharp against the vertebrae. "It’s  _ very _ complacent," The announcer promised the crowd, and with a flourish forced Marco into a low bow towards those darkened faces. His tone bit at Marco, cheery even in the clear threatening undertone of  _ behave, and you’ll be fine. _ "Watch; it bends with just a nudge! Anything you do will be taken in stride– the best pet you can have." Marco, at the very least, was glad that having his head bowed meant he could peel his lips back into his snarl as much as he wanted. 

The pipe– and it definitely  _ was _ a pipe, he knew the feeling of cold metal distinctly– removed itself from his back only to slip under his chin and jerk his head back up to face the audience. "It can even be used as a party trick," The announcer cooed. He gestured to the side and Marco carefully did not jerk in alarm as a second figure slid into sight, stepping onto the stage with jerky, measured steps. "It’s docile, of course, you won't have to worry about an extra guard to keep your pets in line! My friend here is merely a  _ precaution _ of all sorts, As I'm sure you all understand." A light chuckle wafted through the crowds but Marco was too busy watching the new auctioneer to really notice.

He looked... familiar, somehow. The build, the slope to his shoulders, maybe– and yet Marco struggled to place him. Dark hair, similarly pinned up as the Blond's was, keeping it slicked back and out of the way to reveal a sequined, gaudy mask a bright obnoxious red and orange. It was an abomination, with the ugly neon orange suit he wore. The mask neatly slot over his face, shadowing his eyes and covering his cheeks, while still leaving his lips revealed enough for Marco's eyes alone, at his lower angle.

He wondered, chest tight and uncomfortable, if that was on purpose to mock the slaves they were laughing at.

The pipe prodded him again and he nearly snapped at the blond auctioneer. He didn't even spare Marco a glance, he was pretty sure. "This new pet has some exotic features, as well," He continued, "With the most exquisite plumage, and a bonus of being a walking first aid kit for all emergencies!" He finally turned the slightest bit, poking at Marco roughly, and abruptly the phoenix realized they wanted him to transform. 

Marco held still and sneered. As if he would stoop so low as to play into their games. 

It seemed they knew that. In an instant, the second guard was on him– Marco saw him coming a mile away, but those hands, scalding hot (familiar, why was it  _ familiar–) _ wrenched at his shoulder roughly. it didn't actually do more than jostle him, luckily, but Marco still frowned. There was no knife in the man's hand, if he wanted to force a transformation, then–

The chains clicked behind him. Marco's arms jerked out of place.

The crowd was abruptly silent in his ears.  _ Freed, _ his mind screamed, and overwhelmed with the sudden glimpse of an  _ opportunity _ Marco's flesh exploded outward into brilliant cerulean feathers– and yet all that stopped him from crashing face-first to the stage was the tight grip still on his shoulder.

Marco's chest heaved. Eyes widening just a little, near imperceivable, he yanked at his chains and  _ almost _ made a sound of frustrated dismay when he realized that,  _ no, _ he wasn't free– his chains just had a little more give than he had been aware of. The length between cuffs had been loosened, a little– extended just enough for him to stretch his wings out to show but not to  _ use. _

Sandwiched between auctioneers, Marco felt his stomach plummet just the slightest bit more.

"...As you can see," the blond continued, and Marco  _ choked _ inaudibly when a gloved hand crept into his space and  _ touched his feathers. _ The distinctive sheen of haki bled overtop his gloves and pressed into Marco's inner secondaries– fingers digging just barely through Marco's flames in a way  _ intimately _ invasive with the way they twirled his plumage around dexterous fingertips– how was it  _ more _ violating, for his flames to be touched than his bare skin?

the guard behind him held him firmly still and Marco realize he had been trying to pull away from the touch. Pleasure sparked, just barely, at the base of his spine.

_ If I get aroused, _ he thought, blankly horrified,  _ on this fucking stage. _

He had no idea how to finish the thought– no idea how to tell what he'd do if he popped a boner while he was sold off like livestock, with no way to hide it–

"–and how convenient a power," The announcer was still speaking–  _ what did he say, what did I miss– _ "That it can heal from  _ anything _ you do! No amount of rough play will ever be too rough, for this bird, and we can guarantee it will really  _ sing _ if you get its sweet spots–" The dark-haired announcer tugged at him, turning him so his back was to the stage and pressed him down, and  _ down– _ "–Watch, as its body just takes anything you can give it!"

_ What? _ Marco's mind wasn't catching up. For as level-headed a pirate as he was, he had never been paraded around naked for a bunch of disgusting, rich– The auctioneer was forced to lean his whole weight down onto Marco to force him to stop struggling when he felt something slick slide up between his legs.

_ They're selling me off as a– _

Bile rose in Marco's throat. The object did not push in just yet, just pressing, rubbing against bare skin, and yet revulsion made his lips press tightly together to avoid throwing up on the stage. Maybe, if he aimed for the black-haired guard's shoes–

Two taps, barely felt on his numbing arms, where the guard still held him down.

Marco startled. Blinking into clarity as he always did, when checking in during a scene, eyes flickering up to catch– "Ace?" He hissed quietly. It came out a little shakier than he expected.  _ "Ace? _ Ace is that  _ you?" _

The second auctioneer smiled at him, a little wobbly, a little hesitant, and Marco finally realized why the two announcers felt so familiar. 

Ace was then forced to press him back down as he nearly tore up onto his feet to sink his teeth into the other announcer, who was undoubtedly  _ Sabo. _ "You assholes," He snarled, "you fucking bastards, you–  _ what the fuck are you doing?" _ Struggling still was doing him no good. The chains wouldn't budge, refused to give no matter how hard Marco yanked. "Are you fucking kidding me? How long have you two been–"

"Sorry for the confusion, folks," Sabo chirped, his now recognizable tone a little too high pitched in falsetto cheer, "Mild technicality! We'll get on with the show again, and then," He couldn't see Sabo's blue eyes, under the mask, but Marco swore he could  _ feel _ the blond look at him. "We'll make  _ sure _ the product is waiting for the lucky new owner backstage!"

"We're gonna get you out of here," Ace promised, voice in a low whisper, "Just play along, okay? We're not gonna leave you here.  _ No one is going to buy you. _ Sabo has a plan."

The object– Marco was absurdly, hysterically sure that it was, in fact, a dildo at this point– pressed up against the rim of his hole again and he hoped Ace was positively -wilting- under his mask when he glared at him. "This is not a good plan," He bit out. Another little yank, just one. Just a little one. Nothing. "This is  _ really _ not a good plan. One of your worst ever, actually." His back tensed into a shallow arch as the head of the dildo pressed, just barely, past the ring of muscle.

"Just bear with it. it sucks, but its better than actually being sold– or letting someone fuck you on stage. The one before you got that done to her," Ace whispered, tone frantic and a little sick, and Marco carefully did  _ not _ notice in new depth the claw marks scratched into the wood under his own hands against the stage. "We just have to– have to present you, and then we'll take you backstage and get it all off, okay? I promise, well be quick–"

"–and as you can see here, he won't even need any preparation!"

The dildo was stuffed into Marco in one fell swoop and he nearly bit his tongue clean off snapping his teeth shut around a moan. the stupid fucking toy was  _ big. _ Long, thick enough to spread him wide open, to insistently rub down against his prostate without even needing to  _ move– _

"–is no blood! No mess to clean up, just a little lube for your enjoyment, of course, unless you're more into–" Marco coughed out something strained and rough as the toy twisted inside of him, shoving that much deeper until he felt like he was trying to  _ breathe _ around its girth. "Even better, he can cum endlessly! Healing factors can apply to more than just some rips and tears in your toys, of course–" Marco very deliberately did not whine when the dildo bore down on his prostate, rubbing firmly down against it in a filthy slide of silicone and wet, slick lube that made his entire gut throb with terrified need. 

"Wait," He choked out, eyes huge, "H-hold on a–!"

Ace's hands were, despite everything, an easy comfort to latch onto. Familiar heat, burning into Marco's bared skin– if he focused on that little bit of stinging warmth, he could ignore the–

"–if there are any volunteers to give a number, any number," Sabo was asking, hand still innocently angled, and Marco's throat tightened on a high, trilling note as he spilled between his hands braced white against the floorboards.

He exhaled shakily, hips twitching. Even after orgasming, he was still practically vibrating from the fear and uncertainty– as if the tension of the situation had wrapped him up and flung him higher, and higher, and higher– breathing thin on the altitude enough to make his gut clench and his head spin.

_ "–fourteen? _ Oh, we'd be here all day, but I can spare a moment for one more, if that pleases–"

The movement started again, a burning hand slipped down to wrap around Marco's rock-solid cock, and he definitely did  _ not _ sob a little. 

“–It’s also fully  _ equipped, _ if you would prefer to play with other parts! Anyone who enjoys to castrate their toys themselves still has that option open, this slave is completely unused, still, in a manner of ownership, and–” 

"Just a little longer," Ace was murmuring to him. He needed to focus, focus on Ace. on comforting words and reassuring touches that weren’t– as if they weren’t being given to him on a stage, as if he wasn’t being presented like a pet sex toy to who knows how many hundreds of strangers. People who wanted to  _ buy _ him, to pin him up in a gilded cage with a bomb collar tight around his neck– "One more time, Marco, and we can take you back behind the curtains–"

"–and, as I've so helpfully mentioned before, no amount of orgasms should wear its body thin in the slightest! You could go as long as you want, whenever you want– he'll be yours, of course, every hole yours if you choose to use it. He can be your perfect toy– and if you decide to  _ share _ him, he won't break as easily as–"

Sabo shoved the dildo in, up the hilt, and Marco gasped out a rough cry as the force of it almost jerked him forward into Ace. He came on the spot, more cum hitting the stage. His hips jerked weakly, cum still dribbling endlessly out of his cock as Sabo slowly slid the toy back out of him– why did he had to angle it like that, why was he  _ pressing _ on all the worst spots even as he tried to make this  _ easy _ for Marco– What the fuck was  _ easy _ in Sabo's head–

_ "–Encore? _ W-Well, if the crowd so wants it–"

"No," Marco whispered, hoarse and hysterical, and he swore Sabo twitched before stilling. "No, no, I can’t–  _ Sabo–" _

"Unfortunately," Sabo straightened, continuing as if Marco had not spoken, "Repeat demonstrations will have to be between the owner and the slave! We are on a time limit, so while the product is returned to the back I will be taking your offers." He made a dismissive motion, flipping his pipe in his hands. Marco could see, even with the gloves in the way, that he was gripping the weapon far too tightly to be casual.

Ace wrenched him to his feet, grip unbelievably gentle even as he moved quickly, and Marco just breathed through each step. 

He still  _ ached. _ Even out of the spotlight, even in chains, something thick and heavy seemed to  _ buzz _ at the base of his spine. Amplified by fear, head fuzzy from orgasm– he looked down.

"You're still  _ hard," _ Ace said, amazed, and Marco watched as even as he shuddered in disgust his cock  _ twitched. _ "D...Do you want me to..?"

Marco forcefully murdered any thoughts of getting blown by Ace to the back of his head and buried it under 500 layers of homicide and revulsion. His ass still ached. Healing factors didn't bother to remove anything past the pain– the distinct feeling of emptiness, or his insides twitching as if searching for something else to fill it–  _ "Ace," _ he hissed out, deceptively calm, "get me out of these chains _ right now." _

The mask was torn off Ace’s face and in ashes before Marco could even get a better look at it. Ace flicked the last bits of it off his palms with a look of disgust, face twisted in a sneer that despite everything made Marco’s chest loosen a little. “You did a good job,” Ace whispered. He was visibly barely keeping it together any more than Marco was. Only staying steady for the sake of his partners. Hushed, anxious tones– he wasn't excited to risk getting them caught, but Marco needed– needed to hear it, needed to pretend it was all just a play to be smoothed over like frosting melted in heated hands– “We’re so proud of you. We’re going to take you home now, okay? And then you can sleep, and we won't let anyone see you if you don't want them to, okay?” 

Ace fumbled for a key and Marco made a thin, distressed sound at the sight of how  _ many _ were on the chain. Immediately, Ace dropped them and instead laid a hand on the cuffs themselves. “Okay! Okay, it’s okay, do you want me to melt them off?” Normally he wouldn’t offer, but Marco could recognize the compression in his chest and he was not going to waste time hyperventilating when they were still in this god-awful auction house– “I’ll get them off now.” 

He was going to get out of these chains, and then see how  _ they _ felt, getting fucked open in public, and then maybe kill them both for good measure. Or maybe that was the anger talking. Or the fear. Probably the fear– the thrumming electricity, the race of his heartbeat, was still  _ feeding _ into his damn erection like a live wire.

(He just– maybe just be held for a while. A long while. And talk to Pops. and not think about chains and stages and entire  _ communities _ of people who had watched him present himself like a whore to breed or a pet at the end of a leash. But at least until the adrenaline stopped making him shake murder was definitely an option.)

Marco transformed, not wanting to see his shaking human thighs and flushed skin, and let Ace press him close to his chest. Sabo just couldn’t be fast enough, damn it. 

**Author's Note:**

> 🎉🎉💦 Whelp!!!!!! Went Places None Of Us Expected For What Was Supposed To Be A Short And Light Hearted Challenge!!! And Now Here We Are!!!!! Groovy!


End file.
